The Family D'enfer Redux

"Ah Chelsea, my favorite way to wake up," Justine sighed and caressed the head between her legs with her hands, tracing the delicate earlobes with appreciation. She settled more fully on her back and spread her legs more, allowing her cousin Chelsea better access to her clitoris. Justine's dreamy stretch was transformed into a series of grunts and then hard bucking against the face planted firmly between her legs. The tongue at work between Justine's legs seemed to be a whirlwind that relentlessly frothed the moisture it generated into a deluge of delight. Justine screamed her orgasm to the Roman hostel in the dim dawning hour, drawing harsh rapping from two walls and the ceiling in protest.

Chelsea finished and rolled over beside Justine to snuggle: Chelsea D'Enfer was her first cousin on her father's side, but there was little resemblance between the two girls. Chelsea was twenty five compared to her cousin's twenty one; Chelsea's hair was a short, pert bleach blond to Justine's luxurious shoulder length chestnut, her full lips and chubby cheeks were a contrast to Justine's perfectly chiseled features. Chelsea's body was also little on the chubby side at five foot eleven, with bubble rounded hips and massive 42 DDD breasts; Justine was a lithe one hundred and ten pounds with perfectly proportioned 34 D breasts and hips and a smallish waist.

Justine rolled on top of Chelsea, grinding her crotch into Chelsea's pelvis and squeezing Chelsea's ample breasts. "This is a great preparation to see the four major Roman Basilicas today," Justine leered, "we're supposed to inspect and review four of the oldest and most famous churches in Rome, and we start by sexual debauchery forbidden by every pope that's ever lived."

Chelsea smiled up at Justine, "So, what's your point?"

"Nothing," Justine said, "We need to get dressed and going so we can make our rounds for that fascist professor before traffic gets too horrible. Thanks for the wake-up call." She gave her cousin a deep tongue kiss, then bounced out of bed and into the shower.

Chelsea sighed. "All right, I'll let you repay the favor later," she said as she rolled out of bed after Justine had hopped off her.

A light breakfast of Italian bread and cappucino prepared the girls to board a bus to begin their journey. They were both taking an art class in English at Florence, and their assignment was to inspect the four major basilicas, St. John Lateran, St. Mary Major, St. Paul's Outside the Walls and St. Peter's, keeping notes in their diaries and writing a brief summarization of their impressions. They started at St. John Lateran, and Chelsea conscientiously took notes in her notebook of the fascinating gold interior while Justine sauntered around bored. It was an early December starting to turn chilly, so they did not have to worry about the clothing restrictions to visit these churches today. Chelsea had tried to get into St. Peter's the summer before wearing a tube top and micro shorts, and was rudely rebuffed despite her willingness to share what was inside her minimal covering with the custodians. After thirty minutes wandering inside St. John Lateran, they were off a short distance to St. Mary Major. The scene repeated with Chelsea taking copious notes of the ornate surroundings while Justine made faces at the old Italian nonnas praying in the nave. A rather long bus ride took them out to St. Paul's Outside the Walls, and they spent much longer there: Justine had to poke fun at different cameos of the Popes around the nave of the church for Chelsea's amusement, hinting at their imagined perversions and they spent a half hour longer admiring the flowers of the gardens than they intended. By the time they got on the bus to head back into the city and St. Peter's, it was lunchtime and the bus was packed with Romans on their way home for the noon meal and nap.

The girls were irritated to be part of a tightly packed mass of bodies; Justine was in the process of slipping her hands under Chelsea's jacket and button down sweater when there was a tap on her shoulder. She looked over her shoulder and barely saw a strange face out of the corner of her eye. A middle aged Italian man, who was pushed up against Justine's right hip, said something that they didn't understand. After a moment's ignorant stares in response, he smiled in recognition and said with a thick Italian accent, "I see that you are Americans. Do you have tickets?"

Chelsea shook her head at the face looking over Justine's right shoulder. "I don't understand," she said with mock innocence on her face. Justine looked blankly ahead, moving her head to the other side of her cousin's out of the man's sight.

"I am a transit inspector; it is my job to check people on the bus to see if they have their tickets," he said brusquely, "There are many Americans in Rome that try to ride the buses for free since the drivers do not sell tickets and punch them as in most countries. If you two do not have tickets, you will have to pay a fine for riding without a ticket."

Chelsea looked a bit panicked, but Justine remained calm. Justine said over her shoulder, "If you'll just give me a moment to feel around in my bag, I think that I'll have what you want from us." They were jammed together next to the inward facing seats around the edge. Justine leaned over and whispered in Chelsea's ear: "Play along with me." Justine used what little free space she had to snake her hand inside the Italian's coat and unzip his trousers to fish inside. Chelsea looked a bit aghast at first, but then giggled as she realized what her cousin was doing.

Justine's right cheek was against Chelsea's and she hissed in Chelsea's ear. "I've almost found his cock; here it is. Four inches. Why don't you show him some boob? It'll make my job easier."

Chelsea hissed back, "What are you trying to do?"

"Get us off this bus without a ticket or a fine. I'm going to make him pay for this interruption and for trying to bury his hand up my ass right now. He's getting his little dick up and it's starting to ooze. I can't see his face; tell me how he's doing."

"He's got an incredible look on his face, but a huge smile. I think he's getting into whatever you're doing."

"I've got his cock all the way out and I'll start stroking him a little harder. Can you get to your buttons?"

"No."

"Then let me undo a couple and we'll give him some cleavage to go with his hand job." Justine managed push her left hand between them to slip some of Chelsea's buttons open and pulled more and more of her Chelsea's breast out. Chelsea didn't usually wear a bra, so Justine was able to almost completely uncover her cousin's left breast despite the cramped quarters, the nipple half exposed with the hard hub standing at attention. A harsh breath grew heavier and heavier in Justine's ear. She said: "I've got him really cooking now; I can feel his chin digging into my shoulder blade and my hand is all wet and sticky. Wish he'd take that arrogant hand out of my ass crack. I hear him breathing heavily; does he look like he's getting close?"

"Yes, his eyes are glazing over and his pelvis in sync with your hand but you know that. The feel of your coat fabric against my breast is driving me crazy; I may lose it right here, too." She shuddered, rolling her eyes. "Are you going to make him shoot his wad?"

"I'm going try to time it just right to do accomplish our objective. When I say run, get off the bus quickly and get away from the stop. I think I've got him pointed the right direction, wait, wait, wait, wait, almost now. . ."

A tiny old Italian woman was sitting by the window of the bus facing inward. Her hair was in a tight grey bun over brown wrinkled skin and a severe black dress that came up to her neck. A crucifix and three religious medals were around her neck and her hands held a rosary and a handkerchief. She had spent the morning at St. Paul's and was heading to the market before going to her little flat. Dozing as the bus careened down the streets, she was shocked out of her daze by several hot spurts of sticky white liquid abruptly striking her in the face. Clearing her eyes, she saw the cause of her humiliation before her as a young woman's hand held it at full length just millimeters away; it oozed afterglow that ran down the shaft to the balls. Screaming Italian obscenities, she struck out at the pervert's arrogance using her rosary wrapped around her hand as a set of brass knuckles. The man went from ecstasy to agony within one instant as the old woman's vengeance hammered into his groin. Justine shouted: "Now Chelsea, run," as the bus screeched to a halt; the girls pushed their way out the door laughing hysterically as the bus they just left descended completely into bedlam.

Justine wiped the remains of the Italian Bus Inspector's arrogance on a passing businessman's shoulder, and held Chelsea close as they stumbled quickly away from the bus stop before they could be followed. Rounding a couple of corners, they found themselves at a busy intersection; Justine held up her hand for a taxi and pulled Chelsea's sweater open, causing the next cab to screech to a halt before them. Chelsea piled into the cab behind her cousin, laughing hysterically with Justine as they gave their destination as St. Peter's. After a few maniacal moments, Chelsea subsided, buttoned up her sweater and said, "I would have never thought of that. What would you have done if he didn't blow out over that old woman's face?"

Justine shrugged her shoulders. "I never worried about that. I could tell as I beat him off that he was pointed in the right direction to drench somebody who would go ballistic, and I just needed to be sure he had a clear shot. That old woman was priceless; you'd have thought nobody had splooged her face before."

Chelsea laughed again, "She's probably dreamed of that when she was young and probably didn't expect a face full of jizz out of the blue on a bus. The look on that man's face when the old bat hit him in the balls was priceless.

"The shit probably would have written us up anyway." A musky look crossed Justine's face. "You know that little adventure has gotten me hot," she said, as her hand began tracing lazy circles around her cousin's breasts.

Chelsea shuddered: "Me, too. Do you think we have time to pop back over to the hostel for some afternoon delight before St. Peter's?"

"No, I don't think so. They're bound to have bathrooms in the Vatican museum; let's get a stall and I'll repay the favor you did for me this morning."

"You little heathen. You want to lick my cunt on holy ground?"

"Yeah. Well, they've probably done every kind of perverted sex known to the human race there at one time or another if I read the history right. We'll just call ourselves nuns for fifteen minutes, Sisters of the Perpetual Ecstacy, and we won't be any different than anybody else. If you're really good, I may let Justin wax you when we get home."

"All right. You've got me. Let's hope they don't think we're cheerleaders."

****************************************

"No, we're closing up at noon today; the ice storm is already causing problems. Go ahead and get home Frieda; I'm in walking distance and I can close everything up. My nephew Justin's supposed to come by, so I won't be alone. All right, after he comes in you can lock the front doors and head out. Don't make too obvious a play for him and don't hold him up too much; I've got a lot for him to do this afternoon. Be careful on the steps." Prudence hung up and finished clearing her desk. The faint tinkle on her window told her that the sleet was still coming down and an occasional frigid draft flicked her body. She was wearing a grey woman's business suit with a silk blouse topped by a lace collar: her forty five year old body was nobody's Venus, but recently her shortish, chubby form had been reborn to delight as first her niece then her nephew had found her secret desire to be abused and used it relentlessly. She undid the top three buttons: she wanted to make sure Justin's appetite was properly whetted. for an afternoon of wicked delights with a glimpse of her cleavage.

Her phone rang again and she picked it up. "Hello. Hi, sweetheart. Yes, I'm can't wait to see you, too. Where are you? Oh, you're at the front desk and Frieda's flashing her tits at you. Just tell her to get going; you're mine today. Fine, you can cop one feel. Oh, would you check the stairwells and men's rooms for me? I've got to take some books up to the old stacks on the top floor and I need to make sure that everybody's out before we leave; I'll get the ladies' rooms. Because it will get us home quicker, Justin honey, that's why you should do it. All right, please sweetheart, would you help your helpless old aunt? Thanks, dearie. See you soon." She hung up the phone, gathered a stack of four old books and went to the elevator.

The next three levels were all clear, dark apart from the emergency lights and her glimpses in the women's rooms told her they were empty. Echoes in the stairwells told her that Justin was running ahead of her; she thought he probably wanted to get the chore done so they could leave. The top level was also rather dark: Prudence turned on a small bank of lights so she could see to shelve the old books in her hand.

The shelves were ancient: the top floor had been left out of recent renovations and the ends of the shelves were set into the ceilings and walls at both ends and in the middle. An occasional rustle or scrape on the concrete floor told her that Justin was still up here, and she wondered what he could be up to. The last book was at the far end of a shelf by the wall; she had to look around for a few moments before finding the niche where it would go, and had to stand on a portable step to reach high enough to put the book on the shelf.

While she was stretched out reaching to put the book on the shelf, a pair of hands grabbed her, one clamping her mouth shut and the other tight around her waist. The mobile step was used to propel her to the other end of the stacks, where an iron pillar stood four feet away. Prudence struggled feebly against the great strength of the intruder, but the smell of his after shave and the feel of his hands told her who set the ambush. A wrist cuff was attached to the support at the end of the shelf and the other was on the pole: her hands were bound quickly and she stood on the mobile step precariously.

"I brought some things from home," a familiar, husky voice murmured in her ear. "Since the place is empty, I thought it would be fun to play up here this afternoon." Strong hands undid the rest of her blouse buttons from behind and released her front clasp bra; her huge, floppy breasts sagged down as they were released from their confinement. The fetid air of the top floor of the library was punctuated by an occasional frigid breeze that wandered by to harden her nipples. Her massive breasts and bulging stomach were pawed roughly; her nipples were trapped by iron hands and her breasts taken on an asymmetrical vigorous dance that hurried and stretched them through the limits of their mobility. The wind buzzed through gaps in the ancient iron windows harshly as it gusted, and the twilit stacks threw eerie shadows on her ecstatic face as her nephew squeezed and pulled her tits from behind, his face leering over her shoulder. A slippery tongue invaded first her right ear, then her left; the young man's teeth pulled at her pierced earrings. Her belt was undone and her skirt unzipped to fall to the floor, then her underpants were ripped down to expose her huge buttocks. The mammoth pantyhose came next, taking the black flat dress shoes with them.

A short, sharp pop then put a short red streak on her bottom; a thick rubber band was popped against hard her skin in a relentless, random series of snaps. Prudence winced with every snap, but the look on her face between them was bliss. It was unpredictable enough that she didn't know where the next one was going to hit and there were enough teasing touches that promised abuse but didn't deliver to keep her guessing. This went on until most of her bottom was covered in light red marks that burned exquisitely.

"You like, Auntie Pru?" She moaned in assent. "Let me get the rest of this off you; it's just going to get in the way." Her right wrist was released momentarily so that her jacket, blouse and bra could be removed; it was rebound and the left wrist released and rebound for the same reason.

Justin came around in front of his aunt as she stood naked on the mobile step, her huge nipples dangling near her waist, her body quivering at his gaze and her eyes inviting more. He grinned manically at her while the front of his jeans bulged. "I've got a whole box of these rubber bands; do you think we can use more of them?" He popped her breasts a couple of times with a rubber band and she nodded. "Let's see if we can get these milk jugs to stand up a bit." Taking a large, thick rubber band, he encircled her right breast, wrapping it around a couple of times at the base before releasing it suddenly. Another joined it and then two went around Prudence's left breast. It took three bands on each breast before the restriction was tight enough to make them stand up smartly in front of her; they rose to push out dramatically in front of her. He teased her nipples, which hardened to sharp nubs quickly, and then used a smaller pair of rubber bands to keep her nipples standing out an further inch forward.

She writhed in delight as he squeezed her bound breasts and softly bit her nipples. Then he produced a bag of wooden clothespins: they went on the skin of each breast all over, from her areolae to the rubber bindings except for the undersides. He rubbed the tan minefield, drawing warm winces from his aunt. Two huge silver, springloaded paper clips, with string tied through each hole came out: their sharp edges locked mercilessly on her nipples and the string was runover next to the wrist cuffs. They were tied to the supports, pulling Prudence's breasts up higher and farther apart, revealing more of the soft, white, vulnerable undersides.

"Well, Auntie Pru, ever been in a spot like this before?" She shook her head no while gently biting her lower lip. "If this were any other day, there would be people at these tables, reading, researching, imagine what it would be like if you were tied up here in front of them. Your big body would be on display for their prying eyes, your huge hooters hung up like meat for them to gawk at. It's getting you hot, I can tell. What a bad girl you are. You deserve a yardstick, don't you?" She shook her head yes and pulled her bonds, but the strength of the cuffs and the iron fixtures were far too much for her. "Put your right foot on the book shelf there; let's spread your legs a little bit." He guided her foot over to rest on the shelf, running his hand up between her legs and finding her crotch a damp sea. Teasing the clitoris brought a series of deep gasps, but he stopped before they could build to an orgasm. "Now, you're going to get what coming to you. Count the blows and tell me where they landed."

"One, right asscheek. Two, left asscheek. Three, across both asscheeks. Four, oooohhh right on my cunt. Five, across my lap. Aaaaagh, six, underside of my right breast. Seven, eight, nine, all on my butt. Yeeooow, ten, underside of my left breast."

Justin stopped and pulled the strings binding her nipples for a few moments, drawing some moans, then hit her twice quickly on the underside of each breast. "Eleven, twelve, left breast underside; thirteen, fourteen, right breast underside. Oh, hit them some more, sweetheart, I'll suck your cock right here, right now if you do." Justin smiled and worked up and down the backside of her legs with the yardstick quickly, ending with several strokes directly on her crotch. After a slight pause, he delivered some blows to her chubby back: she moaned and wailed in delight as he worked her over, her cries becoming frantically harsh and hopeless as the yardstick returned at last to batter the sensitive undersides of her breasts she so desperately craved him to abuse, tears of ecstasy streaming her mascara and makeup down her face as she wailed hollowly down the reverberant aisles.